Undefined
by jae-vous
Summary: Their relationship is many things: Undefined being one of them.
1. Chapter 1

_Yes, let me publish a new story that I've half finished, I say as I let Clandestine and Fog collect dust._

_Don't worry, I do have every intention of going back to them. I just get distracted. Forgive me? _

**_jae_**

Their relationship is many things: Undefined being one of them.

* * *

**One**

There are many things she loves about the Nation she's come to know as home over the last eight years.

However, allergy season is not one of them.

While she treasures her home in the Capitol, the warmth Spring brings, and consequently, the acclaimed cherry blossoms that bring vibrant color to the city landscape, she finds herself cursing them vehemently for the weeks that fall between mid April and May.

Work becomes a slow agony, and the hours sitting across from the partner that mercilessly teases her do not help this torture. There is no limit to the amusement he finds in how the former Israeli, who's tough as nails even on her bad days, is completely susceptible to something as trivial as Springtime allergies. Furthermore, he finds it just as amusing that the extent of her wrath in retaliation to his teasing is a watery glare at best, or the congested mumbling as she sniffles and sneezes herself into exhaustion. Worst case scenario, he becomes target to her weakly thrown balls of tissues.

And while allergies have officially kicked in since zero-nine hundred two days ago, today she considers herself lucky. They are on a spree of case-free work days, and today she will not be enduring an afternoon spent out in the field, under the glaring sun, nor surrounded by the pollinating trees and flowers that are blooming faster than Gibbs will have finished his first coffee. She's safe from the pollen that swarms through the air outside, and even more, she has found herself alone in the bullpen for the afternoon. No teasing, no watchful eyes as she takes her time going through old case files, and no constant chatter to irritate her already blooming headache.

After about two hours of silence and solitude, however, the pressure in her head has only worsened, and she finds herself hoping at least one of her team members will make a return appearance, if only to distract her from it. She even finds herself checking her phone periodically for a missed text from DiNozzo, Tony. Because while her partner may tease her, talk her ear off with relentless movie trivia, and lob paper planes as close to her head as he can, she knows he will also try to make her laugh, share with her all the red Skittles from his candy stash, and has even been known to keep spare tissue packets for her; the ones with soothing aloe and with an extra soft touch. The tea Gibbs had placed with a wink on her desk as he left with McGee that morning had been finished for an hour, and though it had helped at the time, her empty tea does little to improve the pain building behind her eyes. Glaring at the mocking paper cup, she reaches for her tissues, only to discover she's used the last of her reserves. Panic briefly flares as she shoots a searching gaze around the bullpen, and then her eyes fall again on her partner's desk across from her. Her eyes narrow, and she shoots another furtive glance around the bullpen out of habit, only to confirm she is, in fact, alone, and gets up, walking around her desk and over to the other side of the work area.

Though she has been known to occasionally give her partner a hard time for rummaging through her own desk, in actuality she minds little. They lack any semblance of privacy for the other, only because of the level of familiarity between them. It breeds from the intimacy of their partnership. And so she knows he will care very little if she goes in search of the precious package of Kleenex that are bound to be in his desk. Taking a seat in the substantially more reclined office chair, she locates the not all-so-secret place on the cool metal, jiggles the handle with her other hand, and hits the spot to free the drawer from the desk. It opens with the familiar clunk, and she lets out a congested affirmation in victory.

But his drawer yields little more success. It is cluttered with many random items, and too her disbelief, tissues do not seem to be one of them. She carefully begins combing through the drawer again, incase upon first inspection she had missed the object she desperately seeks, and right before she gives up, several things capture her attention.

A sealed envelope sticks out between the fray of rubber bands and what she suspects are wrappers from the granola bars McGee had claimed mysteriously vanished from his desk, and as she plucks it from where it's wedged in the side of the drawer, the picture behind it is revealed. Stuffy, raw nose long forgotten, a smile graces her face at the sight of it. She's familiar with this picture, she thinks, as she abandons the envelope and grabs for it instead. She twirls it between her fingers, and fleetingly, Parisian scenes fill her head as the memory comes back to her. She had thought he'd been only half serious when he showed her his favorite picture from that trip, and she'd never given it much afterthought. Her stomach flutters in the usual way it does when she often thinks about her partner, and not for the first time, she suppresses the thoughts those feelings try to stray towards. She replaces the picture carefully where she found it, and if she wasn't having second thoughts about going through his desk before, she is now. Apprehension is beginning to creep over her. Moving a stray wrapper reveals an old receipt, and she frowns at the familiar name of the restaurant that graces the top of it in swirly, cursive writing. They'd gone to that very restaurant one night after a case lead led them to Georgetown. They had opted to stay in the area and eat, rather than drive home and fend for themselves, and though she'd only been there the one time, she remembered loving it and declaring it her latest favorite place to dine. They had said they'd go back again, but neither had brought it up after that night. She wonders why he'd kept the receipt, when there seemed to be very little other trash in the drawer. The envelope she'd abandoned recaptures her attention, but she doesn't need to pick it up again to read only a untidy scribbled date in May on the front. Before she can distinguish the number of the day, though, a familiar voice makes her jump.

"_Looking for these?_"

She groans in pain as her knee meets the bottom of the drawer in surprise, and she looks up to see him smirking slightly at her irritation of being snuck up on. It evaporates quickly, though, when she notices he holds not just the mini packets, but an entire box of Aloe Kleenex tissues, soft padding and all.

"You've already used up all my backups, so I figured I'd swing by the CVS at the corner on my way back." His eyes soften, and he holds up his other hand, indicating a shopping bag of the store aforementioned, and she can just make out a bottle of Claritin and a box of her favorite Earl Grey tea.

She moans in appreciation, wiping at her sore nose, and he smirks wider, aware that's he gained himself some serious partner brownie points.

"_Thank you,_" She sniffles emphatically, and when his gaze travels down from her face to his open desk drawer, she becomes aware that it's still open from her rummaging.

"Find anything interesting?" His tone is neutral, but she feels like he's asking two questions with one. Immediately, she feels her cheeks redden, but she's not quite sure why, since really, it was his things she stumbled upon.

So why is the fluttering in her stomach back again?

Quickly, she decides to play nonchalant. It's her go-to reaction with him when the yellow light flashes in her head. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she looks past him at her desk.

"McGee will be interested to know where his granola bars went to." She states impassively, getting up. She watches his slightly tense expression for several seconds, before relief flickers briefly over his expression, and his smile widens as he relaxes. As she goes to reach for the tissues in his hand, he holds them just out of reach.

"Good thing he won't find out," He grins as she tries and fails to grab the box from him, and shakes it with a knowing look. He waits until she steps back, rolling her eyes, and plays along.

"I have kept telling him he must have misplaced them," She amends, and he nods in agreement.

"That's what I've been saying." He says seriously, and finally relinquishes the tissues to her grasp. She doesn't hesitate in tearing them open, and he chuckles as she sets them down on her desk to free a tissue, moaning with relief. Tony shakes his head at her, but she could care less; All dignity is gone. She sits back down in her own, much sturdier chair, closing her eyes as she lets her head fall back. She hears her partner shuffling over, and he clears his throat to capture her attention.

Opening one eye, she finds him shaking out two pills from the bottle, placing them on her desk.

"Take those," He looks at her severely, pointing at the capsules, and shakes the shopping bag he holds up. "I'm gonna go make some of this, and then you can help me finish my paperwork as a thank you for my generosity."

She closes her eyes again, only mumbling in response, because she's too groggy to care all that much right now. She hears him shuffle away, but for whatever reason, she feels no irritation toward his blackmail.

She'll blame it on the fact he'd brought her temporarily relief in the form of three purchases.

But it's the memory of the picture in his desk drawer that draws the first, real smile of the day across her face.


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: This story is merely supposed to be lighthearted fun. It only stretches on for about five chapters. Just a little easy reading during finale time, and after all the angsty tags as of late ;)_

**_jae_**

* * *

There's not enough hairspray in the world, she thinks, as she once again attempts to tame the relentless curls beginning to form in the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

A brief once-over confirms Ziva's hopes that the dim lights of the bar are helping to mask the exhaustion that only comes from a straight week of twelve hour work days. If it were a normal Friday night, and the beginning of a normal weekend, she may have been persuaded to go to out to a bar not unlike the one she finds herself in tonight, with only the smallest amount of pleading from Abby or Tony to convince her. Both are intimate with her weaknesses for the forensic scientists puppy dog pout, as well as the white rum mojito her partner always promises to treat her to, and will usually have waiting for her when she ultimately gives in and shows up wherever the team may be meeting.

Tonight, however, she is not with her team, relaxing after a week of cases and enjoying that mojito she so desperately craves now. She is not baiting McGee to go shot to shot with her, nor laughing with Abby as they pick out the skimpily dressed women that her partner would have chased to impress in another lifetime. She's never considered herself in the same league as one of those women they'd watch try and fail to capture his attention these days; young, painted-face twenty somethings; the type to have the luxury of spending free, warm, Friday evenings in the heart of the District's downtown area, navigating the bar streets in sky high stilettos and skin tight skirts.

But it's not far from the very role she finds herself in tonight.

Under normal circumstances, she thinks, she would _potentially_ be enjoying herself, considering it had been an appallingly long amount of time she'd been out on the night universally known as date night. But the circumstances weren't all that bad. Though she did not have her team, she did have Tony with her tonight; and although even on his best days he could, and would, try to get under her skin, it didn't change the fact that she still craved his company over anyone. And though the heels she wore were slowly but surely suffocating her feet, and her skirt needed constant adjustment, she _always_ enjoyed the opportunity to tease her partner, if only a little, when she was in a situation that called for dressing up.

She tenses as two woman enter the bathroom loudly, clearly at least two drinks deep respectively, and they barely give her a glance as they loudly communicate which stalls they're entering. Ziva smirks as her thoughts drift to her partner, and she wonders if they'd be victims to his flirting tonight if it were an ordinary night. She dismisses the irrational thought as soon as it rears, though, because it had been a very, very long time since his eyes had drifted anywhere other than her.

Her cheeks warm at the thought, and she just as quickly files it away in the place of her brain she reserves all Red Lights thoughts encompassing her partner. She hears the women's stall doors clink and open, and she hastily busies herself with her clutch, pulling out a gently used bronzer and and begins to brush at her face lightly.

Ziva moves out of the way as the women appear on either side of her to use the sinks; juggling her make up and brush in one hand, as she backs up to regard her outfit once again in the mirror. Adjusting her skin tight skirt with a shimmy, she thinks, yeah, she could almost pretend this was a regular evening out in the city, except for the small detail that -

_"Anything yet, Ziver?"_

Ziva jerks in surprise as the gruff voice fills her head, coming from the ear-wig she'd all but forgotten she was wearing. The bronzer clatters to the floor in surprise, and the young women, thankfully, pay her no mind as she bends to retrieve it with a curse.

However, the commotion did not escape the attention of the rest of her invisible company.

_"Nervous, Zee-vah?"_ The voice of her partner drawls, smugly. _"Understandable. Anyone else would be, too, if they were on a date with yours truly."_

Rolling her eyes, she smooths down her hair, waiting for the women to leave. She smiles at their reflections in the mirror, and as soon as the door shuts, she speaks up.

"In your dreams, DiNozzo." She's sure to inflict just enough acid in her tone to convey her sarcasm, but levels it to reassure him she is more amused than irritated.

She hears him chuckle, and the distant echoes that come from the bar outside sound louder in her ear as he speaks again.

_"Actually, sweetcheeks, in my dreams you'd be -"_

_"Enough,"_ Their boss growls over the feed, and she hears in his tone the silent promise of a headslap for his Senior Field Agent the next time they're reunited.

_"Were one of those women our suspect?"_

Ziva frowns, shaking her head before realizing they could not see her, and speaks up.

"No, I do not think so. Our suspect is to be with her husband tonight, yes?

_"Mmm,"_ Gibbs mumbles, _"DiNozzo, are you in sight of the woman's room?"_

_"Already on it, boss."_ His tone is all business now._ "And Ziva's right. Looks like we're playing the waiting game."_ Ziva's groan echoes his.

_"All right, you two. I need to check in with McGee. If you see anything..."_ Their boss pauses, searching for the word.

_"Hinky?"_ Tony supplies helpfully, and Ziva snorts at his efforts to redeem himself.

Gibbs sighs. _"Do that thing you do with the texting... thing... at McGee, if you see anything hinky. "_

She can practically hear Tony stop himself from digging his grave deeper with a comment about their bosses attempt at a modern vernacular, and she smiles at her reflection once more before turning to walk out of the bathroom.

Gibbs seems to hear the unspoken comment anyway, because his last parting sentence excludes him.

_"Good luck, Ziva."_ He drawls, ending the feed.

She smirks, quickly fishing the device from her ear and stuffing it away in her clutch, then exits the bathroom. She doesn't have to search long for her partner, for he's purposely placed himself in her direct line of vision in the view of the restrooms. He raises his glass, nodding with the intimate grin that warms her to her toes, and she looks down to hide her smile as she concentrates carefully on making her way over to him.

He would never let her live it down if she tripped over her heels.

She hears his stool shift as he makes room for her to join him, and she takes her seat before looking in his direction. His smile's warm as he lifts an untouched glass to her, and she laughs as she takes it.

"How did you know this is what I wanted first?" She eyes him playfully as she lifts the mojito to her lips.

Tony swirls his half-finished scotch in his glass, staring at her knowingly.

"I'm your partner. I am bound by our code to be able to assess which alcoholic beverages your mood and the situation call for." He states very seriously, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement. She rolls her eyes for his benefit, and she blames the warmth spreading through her at his words on the alcohol she now sips on.

"Plus," Tony hastens to add, "You always go for the mojito. Then you move on to a beer." He pauses thoughtfully, "Usually _my_ beer."

Ziva snorts, placing the glass delicately on the counter's surface, and glances around the crowded room.

"Well, tonight we will be sticking to only one drink. We are still working, Tony."

She nods at the room at large for emphasis, then turns back to him in frustration. "Where are they?"

Tony shrugs his shoulders, and his expression becomes thoughtful as he considers her.

"National Theatre's around the corner," he reminds her, "Maybe they went to a play tonight."

Ziva takes the time to consider his theory, and he grins as he watches her struggle and fail to come up with something better, finally frowning in defeat. She takes another sip of her drink, and her eyes return to scanning the crowded bar as he continues talking.

"You like that kind of stuff, right?"

Her eyebrows pull together in confusion as she watches a couple that walks through the entrance.

_"Hmm?_" She mumbles vaguely, and he rolls his eyes heavenward.

"The theatre," he repeats, "Plays, theatre; that kind of thing?"

She huffs in frustration as the couple's faces are revealed by one of the few glowing lights in the room, and it's clear they're not either of the people they wait for. Turning back toward her partner, his expectant face reminds her he asked a question.

"Oh. Yes, Tony, I like that kind of..._thing_. Though I am sure you would say that your movies are far superior." She misses the brief look of hurt that flashes across his face as she returns her attention to her drink, but an easy smile has taken it's place by the time she returns her glance to him.

"Why do you ask?" She says, tone curious.

Her partner shrugs, looking around the bar with feigned interest.

"No reason," he replies easily, and her senses tingle as she watches his eyes narrow in attention. "What color is she supposed to be in again?"

Ziva follows his gaze, squinting across the room.

"Red," She reveals.

"Then that is not our girl," He concludes. Sighing, Ziva abandons her search again, instead turning her attention onto him as he continues to look out across the bar.

"At least she'll be easier to spot now. I can spot a woman a mile away in my favorite color."

Ziva snorts humorlessly.

"Red is not your favorite color," She corrects him.

Tony smiles without looking at her, amusement and fondness spreading across his face.

"Ah, but it is my favorite color on _women_, Ziva."

Ziva blinks, and looks down briefly at her own top, frowning. That was the color she was wearing tonight, too. Her partner catches the movement, and she sees his mouth turns upwards into a smirk out of the corner of her eye. She allows herself to glance back at him, anticipating further teasing, and lets her head fall to the side incredulously.

But his expression is serious as he looks back at her.

"Red suites you, Ziva." Tony murmurs, sincerely.

Ziva searches his face, but it's open and honest. She can't help the smile that she feels stretch across her face. Her eyes soften, and for several moments, the air between them thickens. Finally, she chuckles nervously, and whatever spell between them breaks, along with the tension. He lifts his glass to his face, trying and failing to hide his grin, and when he turns to look back across the bar, she sees the unmistakable red blush that blooms across his skin.

Smoothing down her shirt, she takes her near empty glass in her free hand, swirling the contents thoughtfully.

The color red, she thinks, suits him well, too.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I told you I was trying to get back into writing. Finally something longer than those drabbles ;)**_

_**Thank you for all the reviews, and not just this story, but for all the others. I promise I'm working on getting things done.**_

**_As always, let me know your thoughts. I love to hear what you think._**

_**jae**_

* * *

Since becoming a liaison for NCIS, and inevitably an agent for a team leader like Gibbs, no less, Ziva was well accustomed to just how limited any free time for herself was. Not that she minded so much, for it was more than bearable when she was spending the majority of her time with the very people she'd spend it with otherwise. But even in the company of her closest companions, their presence could rapidly become excruciating during never-ending stake-outs.

It's where she finds herself this particular Saturday on her turn of rotation. The past several hours had been spent waiting for their current suspect to make what seemed to be an increasingly unlikely appearance outside an apartment complex on Riverdale Drive. She's sure by now that she had this address memorized better than her own, and when the street sign failed to capture her waning attention any longer, she had resorted to reading the lone magazine she salvaged from the depths of the charger that her usual rotation partner, McGee, had lent her on their last stake-out together.

Only this time, she doesn't find herself in McGee's quiet, yet ever-pleasant company. And emphasis on the quiet, as her true partner of the field begins once more humming along to a current top charter she couldn't quite place. She breathes deeply, her default exercise for combatting the instinct to react violently. It's much easier now, but the urge to strangle him was not always so manageable fresh out of her Mossad days.

She repeats her tired mantra silently in her head.

_Words, Ziva. Use your words._

"You know, McGee does not hum."

She doesn't glance up from her magazine, and so she misses the pointed frown her partner directs at her.

"I have to entertain myself somehow." He whines, shifting his body to stare at her in the passenger seat. "You're hogging the only reading material we have."

Ziva David snorts, and her eyebrows raise, dangerously encroaching her hairline. She turns the page, continuing her current article as her narrowed eyes carefully scan back and forth.

"You, reading. That is funny."

A lobbed gum wrapper whizzes by her peripheral vision, and she finally breaks her glance from the article she was immersed in, catching the crumpled paper before it meets the window next to her.

"Do you mind, DiNozzo?" She glares, lobbing it, if possible, at a higher velocity than the naked eye could see, meeting her mark in the direct center of his forehead. She rolls her eyes at his exaggerated cry of pain, but she can't help the smirk that pulls at her mouth, and his eyes twinkle at her reaction, as if he is pleased with himself. He knows that her feigned annoyance these days is just that, an automatic response from her reactions to him in the early years of their partnership. But he keeps up his antics for the very same reason she keeps up the charade.

She enjoys it as much as he does.

Ziva's attention is back on the magazine before her, and he returns his gaze to the street, watching a car crawl past them and up the road towards their suspects house. He fumbles with the binoculars in his lap, bringing them up to his face just in time to watch two men get out of the vehicle and make their way to the door. He catches a brief glance at their suspects' face as he opens the door to greet the newcomers.

"_Here's Johnny,_" Her partner murmurs under his breath, watching as they retreat back into the house and once again out of view.

"Who is Johnny?" She responds absently, her eyebrows pulling together as she continues reading. Tony sighs, deciding not to elaborate. He watches for several more moments, and when it's clear the men won't be making another appearance again any time soon, he drops the binoculars to shake his head at her. She gives no indication that she sees his response, however, as her eyes gloss over an article for a new diet pill.

Throwing the binoculars onto the dashboard, he groans loudly once more, and though she shoots him a warning glare, she echoes him internally. They were approaching their sixth consecutive hour in the car, and from past experience she knows that her partner begins to get antsy after five; three without a snack.

"How did we get signed up for this again?"

"Because," She sighs tiredly, thumbing the next page, "It is our turn to be on rotation for the weekend. And you switched with McGee so you could have off in two weeks' time." She looks up then to eye him suspiciously, detonating the last word with a question mark, inviting further explanation. McGee had not been able to answer her, and Tony had not given her a reason for the switch either. But it's his turn to avoid her piercing gaze, instead feigning interest in the radio between them.

"The psychic never warned me about this." He grumbled, stabbing his finger at a random button, and she feels the central A.C kick on around them. Finally lowering her magazine, she frowns at him, brushing an errant curl away that blows across her face. She waits for him to explain, thinking it might be another colloquialism she doesn't quite get, but when his face betrays no amusement at her confusion, she asks for further clarification.

"When did you go to a psychic?"

He fixes her with a pointed look.

"Last weekend at the children's charity fundraiser the agency participated in," he reminds her. "The one you weaseled yourself out of."

Her eyes light up mischievously, though she is careful to keep her expression neutral.

"I was helping Gibbs organize the old case files that Vance has been after him to do for months." She tells him innocently, and he rolls his eyes so hard she's sure he would have fallen over if he weren't sitting in the driver's seat.

"You two were doing his yard work!" He exclaims, affronted that she'd even think he'd buy her excuse.

Ziva neither confirms or denies the accusation, but rather ignores him in favor of questioning him further on his bizarre activities.

"Why did you go to a psychic?"

He continues to narrow his eyes at her, but evidently decides to forgive her when his glare fades after several moments. Instead he looks at her pointedly once more, offering one word.

"Abby." He states simply, and she hums in understanding, her name being explanation enough.

"It was mostly palmistry though," Tony elaborates, shrugging his shoulders. "She had a booth up and Abby dragged me over. It was all pretty hinky." He finishes, using their friend's designated phrase for anything weird. Ziva wrinkles her nose, nodding in agreement; She definitely had less enthusiasm for Abby's interests than even Tony did.

His face lights up though suddenly, and holds his hand up to her, pointing to the curved line between his thumb and pointer finger.

"This is your life line though," He tells her impressively, and he reaches across the console for her hand. She tenses instinctively, but he ignores it, knowing she can't control it. Ziva's face heats up anyway, embarrassed at the automatic response, and she knows from the line that forms between his eyes that appears whenever he's thinking deeply, that in that moment they both are cursing that fateful summer she spent in the desert, even after all these years.

She quickly pushes those thoughts out of her mind, and he feels her relax quickly enough, and only looks up when he knows she's regained her composure.

"See?" Tony's eyes twinkle, tracing the line on her hand softly, and they gaze at each other for several moments. Ziva blinks, dazed, and immediately drops her eyes to look down at where he points. "Yours is about as long as mine." Her eyes travel back up to look at him, and he winks. "Which is lucky for you, because she said I have a long life ahead of me." Ziva laughs lightly, giving him an incredulous expression, to which he just grins in response. She looks back down at his hand that still holds hers, and he follows her glance. Tony doesn't say anything, however, but he does pull his hand away after several seconds just as his phone begins to buzz.

She watches him glance at the screen, and he mouths their bosses' name before flashing her the screen and bringing the phone to his ear.

Ziva tunes out of their conversation as it becomes one sided on Gibbs' end, and glances back down at the thin, curving line of her palm. She wonders if the length of her life line meant anything. After everything she had been through in her life already up until this point, she was not naive enough to think that she had a promise of another fifty plus years of days on this planet. She and her partner both know that anything could happen each day they strap on their badges and guns. And while being NCIS and a citizen of this country was far safer than what she left behind in her old life, she would never take a day of her life for granted. Mossad had changed that. The family she lost had changed that. _Somalia_ had changed that.

She looks briefly up at her partner.

_He_ had changed that.

"Boss said we're relieved from duty."

Ziva shakes herself from her thoughts. She returns her glance to her partner, who was now grinning ear to ear, holding up his phone.

"About time," Ziva sighs in relief, twisting her wrist to look at her watch. "It's almost dinner time." She brings up her seat from it's reclined position, and they both move to put on their seat-belts.

"I know, I'm starved." He moans, and begins punching in a number on his cellphone. "The usual or pepperoni?"

She frowns, looking over in his direction.

"What?"

He doesn't look up from his phone.

"What kind of pizza are we getting tonight?"

Ziva makes a noise of amusement, regarding him incredulously.

"Who says I want to spend the night with you? We have been in the car together all day."

Tony looks over at her then, cradling his phone in his ear as turns on the car.

"You lost your privilege of choosing how to spend your night when you completely missed my reference to _The Shining_ earlier." He looks at her sternly, but his eyes are bright with amusement. "I told you to watch that movie at least a year ago. I can't have you go home with that on my conscience." Ziva opens her mouth to argue, but he cuts her off as he puts the car in reverse and throws a glance over his shoulder to back up.

"So, pepperoni?"

Ziva rolls her eyes in surrender, but her stomach flutters with the same feeling that has been happening more and more recently around him.

"_Fine_." She levels with him. "But I am picking the beer if I do not get a say in anything else."

He smirks, keeping his head turned to the road, but he glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. His smirk grows when he sees the barest hint of her rare, intimate smile pulling at her mouth.

_"Fine."_

"And I want _my_ pillow tonight. I cannot sleep with that lumpy one I used last time."

His chest warms at her choice of pronouns, but he doesn't correct her.

"You can have whatever pillow you want if you keep your feet to yourself tonight. I still have a bruise from last time."

She sticks her tongue out in his direction, and turns away before he can respond. They let the silence settle, and Ziva grazes her thumb across her palm, watching the scenery pass outside the window.

Her thoughts swirl with thoughts of life lines and limited time and meaning.

If what her partner said were true; that they both had almost a whole lifetime to look forward to, she doesn't think she'd mind him being the one to be by her side. And if she were honest with herself, she knows deep down that he's the one she'd want to see, at the beginning and end of each and every day.

Tony watches her absently trace the line of her hand once more as a smile settle over her features.

She thinks to herself that her life line looks longer than it did before.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Somehow managed to knock this out during an hour break today. Hope you enjoy. Thank you to everyone who leaves reviews, I love hearing what you think._**

**_jae_**

* * *

_"You have ink on your face."_

Her voice is lit with amusement as he feels her gaze regard him curiously from across the bullpen. He doesn't meet her attention as he throws his backpack into the corner behind his desk, but she knows he acknowledges her for he begins rubbing furiously at the faded, yet still present outline of colorful ink along his jaw and cheek. She pauses her assault on her half-eaten pad thai to liberate her partner's usual order from the take out bag from their frequent haunt a block from the yard. She glances at the clock, confirming that Tony had left over three hours ago, and moves from behind her desk, placing their food on her chair before wheeling it over to where he is now using his phone to check his reflection in the camera.

Ziva clears his desk to place the take out containers atop of it, and scoots her chair to the side of his desk, making herself comfortable. She spreads out the food, and Tony takes the proffered chopsticks she offers him with one hand distractedly; still rubbing at the ink visible along his cheek.

"I do not think you are getting the rest of that off today." She remarks conversationally, before taking another bite of her lunch. Her partner, finally acknowledging her presence, shoots her a glare over the top of his cellphone, and tries futilely to rub at the remainder of the ink until he finally groans in defeat. Ziva smirks as he sets down his phone, and her eyes fall on the lock screen; her stomach flipping in the familiar way her partner usually induces. She smiles as a picture of the pair of them stays lit on the screen for several seconds, one from a baseball game Tony had dragged her to with his old college pal Mark and his wife, Celia, on a rare Saturday they had had off. She had forgotten that Mark's wife had insisted on taking their picture, and she's mesmerized by the carefree smile she finds on her face; a rare expression in the past that, she notes, has become more and more frequent recently.

But she halts her thoughts before they stray further to the reason why that is.

An unconscious smile pulls at her lips, and she diverts her attention once more to the food before her. If Tony notices the reaction, he remains quiet. Instead, he allows his gaze to linger on her for only a few moments before gesturing at the spread before them.

"I see I've trained you well, Special Agent David. Ten points for having your Senior Field Agent's lunch ready and waiting. Probie could learn a thing or two from you." He grins widely at her look of disdain, and she refrains from stabbing him forcefully with the chopstick in her hand.

She makes her effort of self restraint clear though, for she gestures wildly in his direction with the utensil, and she smirks as his eyes widen at the threat.

"I figured it was the least I could do since you offered to go keep our suspect's child occupied." Her eyes glint mischievously, and he pauses with his stir fry half-way to his mouth.

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I, _sweetcheeks_?" He smiles sarcastically, nodding his head over to their empty co-workers desk behind her. "Since you and McGee decided to scamper down to Abby's lab when you saw Gibbs coming."

Ziva pokes at an allusive shallot with the end of her chopstick.

"I was helping McGee with verifying the evidence Abby had confirmed." She says neutrally, succeeding in piercing the shallot and several additional noodles. Tony grumbles under his breath as she looks up, chewing thoughtfully.

Waving at his jaw with her chopstick, she swallows over a mouthful of pad thai.

"So how did you come to have ink all over your face?"

Tony narrows his eyes at her as he engulfs another large bite of food, which Ziva wrinkles her nose at in disgust. Pushing her empty carton away, she moves back over to her desk, feeling Tony's gaze on her back as she begins searching through her bag she left beside her keyboard. Liberating a small packet of make-up wipes, she returns to her chair, and Tony continues chewing warily, watching her scoot closer until her knees bump the side of his chair.

He swallows while his adam's apple bobs nervously, and she can't tell if it's from the large bite he just tried to inhale, or if it's because she now holds his jaw still firmly with one hand.

"What are you doing?" He says worriedly, trying to roll his eyes so he can see what she's doing.

Ziva pinches his cheek lightly, pulling out a wipe with her other free hand.

"Hold still," she commands over his whine of exaggerated pain.

He does as he's told though, and he waits as the familiar scent of cucumber and apricot fill his nose as she wipes at his jaw gently. The scent reminds him of the casual Ziva he surprises on Friday nights with pizza and a movie, and it's one that he's gotten to know more intimately as of late. He doesn't realize he's zoned out until he hears his partner say his surname.

"_DiNozzo_," Ziva says forcefully, and he feels her grip leave his jaw.

He rubs at the ghost of her warm touch, returning his attention back to her.

"Sorry, what?"

Ziva rolls her eyes, balling up the wipe and throwing it into her empty take out container.

"Are you going to tell me how you managed to allow your face to become a coloring book?"

He returns back to his lunch, poking at the now cold vegetables she knew he wouldn't even consider finishing now.

"Suspect's daughter turns out to be a little Picasso. It was the only thing that would keep her entertained."

Ziva stifles a laugh with the back of her hand when he looks up to glare at her once more.

"You let a child draw on you for fun?" She asks, amazed.

Tony looks back down, shrugging his shoulders as if it weren't a surprise.

"She was cute." He reasons as way of explanation, and Ziva tilts her head to the side, appraising him.

"Do you often let cute girls draw on you?" She smirks, trying to catch his gaze, but he looks determinedly everywhere but her. Collecting the remnants of lunch, he begins piling their trash together, and she offers the last napkin as his hand searches the space for several moments purposefully. He nods in thanks, and wipes at his hands.

"I let you draw on my face once." He finally brings his gaze back to her, his eyes warm and playful, and the barest of smiles pull at her mouth as she recalls the memory.

"Like I said, she was cute," Tony continues, not letting the moment stretch on, and stands to push his chair back under his desk. He picks up their trash, squeezing between Ziva and the filing cabinet as he moves toward the trashcan. "I wouldn't mind a little girl like her." He throws over his shoulder, casual as day, and Ziva feels her eyebrows rise to her hairline in surprise.

Her partner, in general, shied away from children. She, too, found herself trying to keep her distance from them whenever a case involved them in rare circumstances. In fact, the only children she'd ever seen Tony comfortable around were Mark and Celia's, as she witnessed the other weekend at the baseball game; but, she reasoned, he'd been there since the moment they were born, and was accustomed to them.

And ever since they had acknowledged this thing that was between them a few months ago; though they had kept it low-key and had refrained from giving too much definition to what they both knew they were rapidly becoming, the subjects of marriage and children in any shape or form had been taboo up until this moment. They hadn't even let themselves go anywhere physically, yet. Neither of them, it seems, had decided just how exactly to move forward from where they'd been stuck for so long now. She was pretty confident she knew that he wanted this, just as she was sure that they wanted the same things. While they hadn't exactly come to the tipping point yet, she was sure they had been edging closer in closer as the weeks had passed.

And so the tension she observes in his back as he's turned away from her whilst throwing out their trash is understandable, but while the remark could easily be a throw away comment, something in her wanted to suddenly push this conversation further than she would normally.

"You think about that?"

She tries to keep her voice even, but her nerves are evident in the way her accent thickens. Wiping his hands once more, Tony turns around and makes his way back to her, and his face is carefully neutral.

"Well yeah, maybe one. A girl," he says offhandedly, and she feels him come to stand behind her, gripping the back of her chair. She focuses on her nails, examining them in her default nervous tick.

"A girl, hmm?" She chuckles, for she had always pegged him to want the opposite. Tony chuckles along with her, acknowledging her doubt, and begins rolling her backwards toward her desk. She laughs aloud when she lurches forward in surprise, and one of Tony's hands shoot out to steady her as he continues rolling her back.

"Yeah," he says, his voice more confident as she becomes less tense. Rolling her around to face him, he pushes her between her desk and Gibbs until she's returned to sitting before her desk. Tony leans on the arm rests over her, and his smile softens while his eyes seem to deepen in color.

"She's gonna be a knock-out," He grins confidently, "Curls for days, you know?" He pulls at one of her free curls, and Ziva's smile freezes on her face. Her mouth opens just slightly, but he continues on. "And these deep brown eyes; just like her mom's." His hand lingers against her cheek for just a moment, and she doesn't realize he's brushing at the corner of her eye until she feels the wetness wipe across her skin from his thumb.

He grins down at her knowingly, and she drops her gaze to his self aware smile.

She traces her thumb across his hand that rests on her armchair, and murmurs softly.

"Sounds like she is going to give you a run for your money, yes?"

Tony grins widely at her, and gives her a knowing look.

"Her mom already has. I woudn't expect anything less."


End file.
